Vae Victus
by CanisLupusHorribilis
Summary: This is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning. -Winston Chruchill. RE/WWII. Warning: Slow updates.
1. Landings

Vae Victus

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't own World War II and I don't own Resident Evil. Words and views used in this story are not of my own but of the people at the time. Remember, back then derogatory words weren't considered such.

A/N: Yes, I know, I'm posting up a ridiculous amount of stories. But this story was born from playing Call of Duty: World at War for the last week. Pairings will include: Leon/Ada, Chris/Jill, Billy/Rebecca, and a couple others. Also, let's see how many of you can guess the two battles started in this chapter.

Vae Victus- Woe to the Conquered

"All great things are simple, and many can be expressed in single words: freedom, justice, honor, duty, mercy, hope." Winston Churchill

-February 19, 1945 in the Pacific Islands-

The boat rocked softly, a gentle lulling motion that was almost comfortable if it wasn't filled to the brim with men all wearing heavy gear. The waves lapped at the boat, splashing some of the men in the boat while a soft breeze fluttered down onto their sweaty backs. One of them, a man with a set of tanks on his back to fuel the M2 Flamethrower he was carrying around, wiped the back of his hand against his forehead. He wiped his hand on his multicolored pant leg directly afterward, slightly noticing the wet stain it left on the material.

Lieutenant William Coen was getting anxious. The silence from the island in front of them was frightening. With how close they were to the beach, there should've been lead raining down on their heads, from both sides. But nothing came from the islands. The mountain, a volcano the Lieutenant thought, stood like a massive guardian of the island. The men in the boat knew that that mountain was littered with Japanese soldiers. Their eyes were drawn to it, examining the large side facing them.

"Hey Billy, you think we're going to get shot?" Private Kevin Ryman asked from behind the dark haired man. Billy turned to face him, his face emotionless and Ryman backed down. The interaction managed to get a couple chuckles from the men on the boat.

"Why would you ask something like that?" another Private, David King, asked. A couple other men mumbled their agreement.

"I was just curious. Billy knows these things. He went to… Pe…Pele…" Kevin tried, pulling a face when he couldn't say the island.

"Peleliu," the man to Billy's right said easily. Billy looked over at the blond soldier, who stared out over the sea with his pale blue eyes. "It was the Battle of Peleliu."

"That's right, Ryman, The Kid knows everything that you don't," somebody snorted.

'The Kid' was Corporal Leon Kennedy, one of the youngest men on the boat, even though his age was the norm these days. Billy, Kevin, and a couple of others were thought to be old men because they were in their late twenties to early thirties. It was rare for a man to last that long in the war.

"So, this your first battle, Corporal?" Kevin asked, grabbing Leon's shoulder. The riflemen looked back at him silently.

"If it was, I wouldn't be a corporal…Private Ryman," Leon replied, looking as cool as always. Billy had always liked that about 'The Kid.' He was calm under pressure, even battle didn't really faze him.

Kevin's face flushed at Leon's statement. His attitude prevented him from moving up in the ranks. The officers that dealt with Billy and his squads didn't like that Kevin joked whenever he could. They grumbled that he wasn't a good soldier and that it was amazing he'd lasted as long as he had. Kevin had been a private for nearly four years now and he seemed doomed to stay such forever, especially since Billy didn't think the war was going to end soon.

"Where did you fight?" somebody from the back of the boat called, sounding uneasy. They were trying to ignore the fact that they were closing in on the gold strip of sand that formed the beach they would be landing on and the conversation seemed to be taking their minds off the doom that would be unfolding soon enough.

"I was in Europe," Leon said softly.

"Normandy?" somebody gasped.

"No. I was part of a regiment sent in after Normandy. But I saw it… God, it was bad," he said, his voice still soft. He rarely spoke loudly. Billy had to wonder if it was because he was raised that way or if it was the war slowly getting to him.

The Marines fell into a silence, punctuated only by the water licking at the boat. Then, the silence got eerie. They were only about a mile off shore by now. The men knew that the machine guns hidden in the mountains should be tearing them to shreds by now. They should be dieing off already. But nothing was happening. As the boats in front of them struck land, Billy noticed Leon looking at the mountain.

"What do you see up there?" Billy asked. Leon and Kevin were his best sharpshooters. If there was anything up there, they would be the first to spot it. But then, a gently movement from Leon.

"Nothing," he said.

And that scared Billy more than the silence did. Their LVT closed in on the island, the Mount Suribachi staring down at them. Billy looked them over as well, swallowing thickly.

"Maybe artillery and the bombers got them all," somebody tried. David shook his head, his dark eyes fearful. Billy noticed that several men seemed to be hoping that they wouldn't be fighting anybody.

The nasty attack on the island wouldn't have annihilated all of the Japanese on the island. Billy knew that the enemy force liked to make caves to hide in, so they wouldn't get decimated by any attack on the island. And even though he couldn't see into the mountain, he knew there were tunnels snaking through it, filled with men ready for battle.

The few Marines that weren't already wearing their helmets grabbed them and shoved them onto their heads. They tightened their grips on their guns, M1 Garands and M12 shotguns and Thompson M1A1s, and tensed up, ready to leap into action as soon as they could.

The LVT struck land and Billy hissed out the order. The men sprinted quickly out of the boat like vehicle, nearly stumbling as they hit the sand. They weren't used to the sudden transition from metal to sand. Billy looked up at the mountain, noticing that a troop of Marines was making their way up Suribachi as the LVT started up the beach slightly. It wouldn't be going all the way up. Just far enough for the Marines to yank out some supplies quickly.

"Something's wrong," Leon whispered.

Billy nodded, his eyes still scanning the mountain, when the men seemed to vanish and machine guns tore at the Marine's down on the beach. Billy screamed for his men to hit the sand and right before he collapsed to the ash coated sand, he saw the marines on the mountain collapse, all dead from enemy fire that was hidden within the mountain.

-June 6, 1944 off the coast of France-

Corporal Christopher Redfield, or Chris to the people who really knew him, felt like he was about to lose the meager amount of food he'd managed to choke down. He was trying to force himself to ignore the rocking of the LCVP that he and 35 other men sat in, waiting to hit the beach in front of them.

Next to Chris, a young red haired man looked like he was about to bolt from his seat and lunge into the icy water, his eyes huge and panicked. He didn't even have his helmet on yet. The Corporal sighed and turned to him.

"What's your name, kid?" the older man asked. The red head looked at him in shock, as if he couldn't believe that Chris was talking to him.

"Uh… S..Steve Burnside, sir," the newly named man stammered. Chris smiled at him reassuringly.

"Well, Steve, you're nervous right?" Chris asked, ignoring the fact that Steve had failed to give him his rank like they were acquired to do. At the moment, he didn't need more stress. Not as they got closer and closer to the beach.

"Yeah," Steve said, his voice still shaky even though he seemed a little calmer now that he had somebody to talk to. Chris motioned to the helmet that Steve quickly stuffed onto his head.

While Steve was fastening the straps under his chin, Chris said, "Well, I want you to think about your favorite thing back home, okay?" Steve looked at him in confusion but looked away thoughtfully anyway. "Got it?" A nod from Steve assured Chris that he could continue. "Okay, now I want you to keep that image with you. I don't care if you're staring a German in the eyes. I want you to continue thinking about that thing, okay?" Chris asked.

Steve gave him a weak smile and nodded, turning his eyes back to the beach. Chris' stomach was settling down when the bomb struck the LCVP and sent 36 men into the freezing Atlantic Ocean. Chris felt the air get ripped from his lungs and tears sprang into his eyes. He felt his people moving around him and he tried to swim, tried with everything he had to make it to the surface to that sweet, sweet air. But his M1 Garand was pulling him down.

A smiling face flashed through his mind and reminded Chris why he'd even joined the Army in the first place. At the mental image of his little sister, the corporal struggled to force his rifle off. He felt the heavy chuck of metal and wood pull out of his hands and he released it instantly. Kicking with heavy boots, Chris forced himself upwards, until his hand bumped the floating carcass of the LCVP, held up by a bubble of air.

The soldier's head broke the surface of the ocean and he drank the air in like it was a type of drug that he couldn't get enough of. He saw several bodies surrounding him but there was the beach, about half a mile away from him. Chris started the long journey to the beach, kicking and pulling the water to get to the sand. He heard bullets whizzing past him and the other soldiers starting to resurface.

Chris felt his boot come into contact with something solid but not all the way solid. He felt a sigh of relief almost escape him, until his hand touched something solid. He lifted his gaze to his hand and found himself staring at a bullet riddled American soldier, face down in the water.

Without thinking, Chris grabbed the dead man's rifle from where it lay on his back and struggled past him and onto the beach. He fell into a hole, made by a bomb, and felt something move at his side. He turned to see the very frightened looking Steve Burnside, rank unknown, staring at him.

"I'm still thinking of that thing, sir," Steve assured. Chris smiled and nodded.

"Good man," the Corporal said, moving into position. He aimed down the barrel of the M1, his left eye closed and his right eye staring through the small metal ring that acted as the sight for the gun. And as Chris pulled the trigger, he heard Steve mumble something about wanting to go home.

And the older soldier had no doubt that every single man on that beach agreed with Steve's comment.


	2. Beaches

Vae Victus

"Never, never, never believe any war will be smooth and easy, or that anyone who embarks on the strange voyage can measure the tides and hurricanes he will encounter. The statesman who yields to war fever must realize that once the signal is given, he is no longer the master of policy but the slave of unforeseeable and uncontrollable events." Churchill

February 19, 1945 on the island of Iwo Jima

Sand sprayed everybody in the face, making the men close their eyes in shock and pain as the tiny particulars struck them in the face. The silent world was suddenly roaring too loudly and several men stopped to cover their ears as the machine guns roared up above and were covered in large bullet holes in a split second. Their corpses fell to the ground and served as nothing more than covers for the Marines still crawling around.

Billy was surrounded by men crying for backup and assistance, his gun held tightly in his hands and every now and then bullets tearing at the ridge of earth that protected him and his team from the Japanese machine gunners. He cringed as the man to his immediate left slumped over, dead, with the back of his head blown in. It looked much like the fancy Italian pasta Billy's mother used to make.

Leon and Kevin suddenly lifted themselves up and shot at the mountain, their guns going off at the same time. Billy silently noted that two of the machine guns stopped firing and a silent ripple of praise seemed to go through the team. Leon and Kevin ducked down again. The younger man's face remained as calm as always, his pale eyes flickering over his gun as if searching for any problems with it.

"Alright, we gotta start moving or they're just tear us to pieces here!" Billy shouted to his men. All eyes landed on the Lieutenant and he lifted his gaze to meet theirs. "We can't stay in one place. You all know that. Now, let's move!"

The men pushed off from the ground and broke into sprints, heading for the mountain. Machine guns ripped at the sand turning earth below their boots but Leon and Kevin fired back, their M1's cracking distinctly over the roar of machine gun fire. Several hollers of joy coursed through the men as Billy led them towards the mountain.

A loud thump, hardly audible against the furious guns above their heads, alerted Billy to one of his men collapsing and he turned, hardly noticing the guns above his head. Leon slowed down to help a young, and very thin man, back to his feet. The Corporal paid the machine guns no heed but his eyes widened with sudden joy. Billy saw what it was. A tunnel carved into the earth by the Japanese. By some luck the thin man had stumbled upon it.

"Turn back!" Billy shouted. "Into the tunnel! Take cover men!" His voice boomed even over the guns, even over the tremendous roar from the Americans and from the constant thunder of the Japanese.

The troop stumbled down into the tunnel found by the skinny man and Leon. The trapdoor that had been opened for some reason was open until the young rifleman was the last to climb down into the tunnel, his M1 dangling loosely over his shoulder, and he closed the trapdoor behind him making them all stand in darkness with only cracks of light from the trapdoor above illuminating them. Leon's pale eyes were wide but calm otherwise. The ground above his head trembled as bullets and explosives struck the island without hesitation.

"Holy hell," somebody breathed. Billy turned and examined his men. They were staring, wide eyed, around their new shelter, their faces covered in dirt and grime. Billy saw the fear in their young, confused eyes. He saw the disbelief.

"How many?" he asked. Kevin looked around, taking a mental count of the men sitting before them. Leon walked over, his helmet hanging loosely from his right hand. His hair, an inch long and incredibly messy, was sticking to his head thanks to sweat.

"Ten dead. Three lost," David suddenly said. Kevin shot him a dark look. "Three ran off. They're probably dead." Billy, though not very appreciative of David's tone, nodded his head thankfully when an eerie sound met their ears.

Every Marine aimed their gun down the black tunnels, their eyes searching the darkness and getting nothing. The sound was suddenly shushed and Billy realized they were listening to people. A hand grabbed his shoudler and Billy turned to see Leon looking down the tunnel with calm eyes, his helmet on his head again.

"Those voices were speaking Enlgish, sir. I…I'll check it out if you want," he said gently. The Kid looked rahter frightened, the first time Billy had ever seen fear in his pale eyes, but the Lieutenant knew it was because the Corporal realized how dangerous the Japanese, or spooked American soldiers, could be in the narrow space that the tunnels had.

"You and I will check it out Corporal. Aiken, you're in charge," Billy ordered, looking at Corporal Richard Aiken. The man nodded his head and Billy started down the tunnel. Somebody whispered good luck behind him.

He and Leon walked down the black tunnels, the abyss swallowing them as if they were stepping into the great bowels of some monstrous animal. Billy would've rather been in that animal's bowels then in the deep tunnels within the island.

June 6, 1944 on Omaha Beach

Chris felt like they were losing. The Germans continuously shot at them and he heard the screams of pain from his fellow Americans. Blood had painted the pale sand of the beach a dusky red and corpses littered it like something had come through and dropped a ton of dolls on the sand. The bunkers in front of the troops never seemed to stop shooting at them and only every now and then did a man dare to run out and find cover in another bomb hole or behind one of the huge steel 'tank busters.'

"Shit, I'm out," one of the two men on Chris' left snarled. He glanced at them in confusion and before he could regret turning his attention from the German machine guns, rounds tore at the sand near his face. He yelped out in shock and pulled back.

"Good job, Red!" laughed the thirty-eight year old man to Chris' right. Sergeant Barry Burton, one of Chris' closest friends from back home, was in the bomb hole on the beach with Chris and Steve. He'd actually provided cover for the two younger men as they'd raced up the sand to make it closer to the barbwire fence that was protecting the Germans.

"Shut the hell up Burton!" Chris snapped, his eyes landing on the bunkers in front of them again. His eyes were some of the best on the field but his left eye gave him problems. In a battle he'd gotten sand blown into his eye, only to have a nurse gently clean it out later. He remembered her. Jill Valentine, a lovely young woman with brunette hair and a pleasant smile.

"Red, stop daydreaming!" Barry barked, opening fire with his M1. The rifle cracked softly compared to the roar of the machine guns. "Start shooting!" Chris lifted his gun, which he'd taken from the corpse of a soldier in the water, and started firing at the bunkers. The small slits in the building's were the only areas where he could hope to kill somebody.

"Still out of ammo!" somebody cried, his back pressed to the wall of the hole they were hiding in. Somebody tossed him a clip and he slammed it into his gun, an M1A1 Thompson Chris noted, before turning and opening fire on the bunkers. Chris glanced back at the man who'd thrown the clip.

His skin was darker than the rest of theirs and Chris guessed he was from somewhere some of the southern American boarder. He caught Chris' gaze and smirked, shouting, "I was supposed to go to the islands but they screwed up and put me here!"

Chris nodded in understand and turned his gaze back up to the bunkers when he noticed that the machines guns were becoming less and less. But before he could even wonder what was going on, a thunderous boom ripped through the air. He jolted and turned onto his back to see tanks driving up the beach. Their canons cracked and boomed and their machine guns spewed out a constant barrage of bullets. He breathed out heavily and he heard the cheers from fellow Americans around him in the other bomb holes.

The battle wasn't done but things had just started to look up.

June 6, 1944 above France

Albert Weksker wasn't certain why he was remaining in the skies as his fellow Germans pulled away, their planes flying as fast as possible away from the Americans. But the American planes were also returning to their ships and their landing pads. Wesker was alone in the skies.

A British born man, the only reason he'd been accepted into the German army at the start of World War I was because of his extensive knowledge of Europe and his hope for Germany's success, which stemmed from love born of his grandfather's stories of 'perfect' Germany.. At the beginning of the Second Great War, he'd been accepted because of his blonde hair, blue eyes, and perfect height. He was a perfect example for what Aryans needed to look like. So, they'd put him in a plane and he'd quickly found himself fighting against Americans once again.

"I won't let my country fall," he breathed bitterly, accidently reverting to speaking English. His voice, accented with both English and German, was the only sound in his plane besides the constant growls of the engine. He finally made the plane turn around and headed back for base.

Wesker was more than willing to do whatever it took to win the war. Even if it meant doing things his fellow Germans would frown upon.

A/N: Wow, it's been a long time since I updated this. That can be blamed on my lack of inspiration on WWII, which is to be expected. My information on WWII is not perfect and I'm doing all I can to study up on it. If there are any inaccuraices, I apologize but remember, I'm not perfect. I can't assure that every itty bitty deatil will be perfect. I'll do the best I can, I'll assure you that much.


	3. Fear and Sorrow

Vae Victus

"If you think of humanity as one large body, then war is like suicide, or at best, self-mutilation." Jerome P. Crabb

February 19, 1945 on the island of Iwo Jima.

Leon wore a mask. A mask of bravery and calmness and stoicism that hid the true Leon away. The true Leon was a shaking young man, his brain struggling to comprehend the death and destruction surrounding him. He was only twenty-one years old, just barelyout of college. He'd planned on becoming a police officer back home until America had entered the war. Then, he'd gallantly stepped up to serve in the Marines. Gallantly. And stupidly.

His father had told him war stories, tales of heroes during World War I. Leon had heard of Tommy the rifleman who could take down ten Germans at once. He was told about Frankie, the man who risked his life to save a little girl in the middle of a firefight. He'd been told about countless heroes. But at the end of every story, when his father bid him goodnight, Leon had been told, "Never, Leon, _never _enter a war. It'll tear you to pieces, no matter how strong you are inside. You're human and war will use that against you."

Now, walking through the black tunnels that had been carved in the belly of the island, he found himself hating his choice and regretting not listening to his father. He was a fool. He didn't belong on a Japanese island with an M1 Garand in his hands. He belonged back home with his girlfriend, who'd stopped writing him, serving as an officer of the law.

A soft whisper broke through his thoughts and snatched his attention towards the black tunnels. Billy gently motioned for them to stop walking, his hand movements barely visible in the black void. As they stopped walking and their footsteps disappeared, they fell into utter silence. The whispering disappeared but Leon suddenly had the oddest feeling they were being watched.

_Watch out…it's the boogeyman._

The muzzle of a gun suddenly pressed to his head an an attractive feminine voice ordered, "Stay very still and keep your hands where I can see them." Leon felt his muscles tense up and his grip on the M1 tightened suddenly.

"We're U.S. Marines, put the gun down," Leon ordered, his voice steady and not showing the true fear he felt. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. The gun didn't leave his head though. Apparently she didn't care that they were Marines.

"Do what he says," Billy growled suddenly. Leon noticed that his CO was gripping something that caught what little light there was and shimmered. It was a grenade. "You shoot him and I'll blow us all to hell," the big man continued warningly. Leon felt his jaw clench in silent fear. He didn't particularly want to get blown up.

"You're Marines," the woman said softly, as if she couldn't decide on whether them being Marines was a good or a bad thing. Leon nodded, though he noted that she hadn't reacted whatsoever to Billy's threat, which wasn't comforting. "…I apologize. I wasn't thinking and when I saw the guns…I just instantly assumed you were Japs. Fear…can do some pretty crazy things." The gun fell from his head and relief surged through the young corporal immediately.

"We speak English," Billy snapped. Leon shot his CO a look, one that hopefully conveyed that they were possibly in danger and now wasn't the time to piss this woman off. But Billy ignored him and stowed the grenade into his pocket. Likely for use later.

Leon finally turned to look at the woman and his jaw nearly dropped. It had been a long time since he'd seen a woman, let alone one like this. Although she was barely visible in the dark tunnels, he could make out black hair but short, ending above her shoulders and falling messily into her face. She was tall and slender, standing with a calm grace most rich people didn't have. Her eyes were obviously green but she looked slightly Asia. Perhaps Eurasian, he thought.

"My name is Ada Wong," she said, looking at Leon. He saw the silent apology in her eyes. She obviously regretted threatening them. "And you don't know how happy I am to see you both."

June 6, 1944 on Omaha Beach

"I can't believe it was that easy," Steve said as he tore a chunk out of his biscuit from his breakfast K-ration. The young man hadn't eaten very much of his breakfast ration. Carlos and Barry looked at one another before shooting Steve a confused look. "Well…not easy but…I expected to die."

"We all do," Chris said gently, walking over to them. "That's part of this war though… We all expect to die right away. But we don't. We just keep on fighting. Weird, isn't it?"

"How often have you expected to die?" a familiar voice asked. It was much too high pitched and feminine to be a man's voice. Chris' head snapped up and he looked at the person walking over to them. Claire.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, standing. God, it was good to see her. Claire was his little sister and he'd missed her more than anything. Their parents had died when they were young so they'd taken to using each other to live. They were all the other had. But it wasn't good to see her on a destroyed beach, surrounded by death and guns and tanks.

"I'm in the Nurse Corps," she stated simply, ignoring her brother's furious tone. "And me and another woman came to Omaha beach to make sure everybody was okay. The officers would be upset but…we don't really care."

Another woman was walking up at the moment but Chris was too busy trying to bite back his building fury. Until she was close enough that he could really recognize her. Jill. The woman who'd saved his eye.

"Told you he'd get upset," Claire stated to Jill, shrugging pleasantly. Chris couldn't believe his sister was so…okay with walking on the bloody beach. His fallen comrades, her fallen Americans, lay dead around her. And she was being nice and friendly.

"When did you-?" Chris started.

"Join the Corps?" she asked. He nodded. "Right after you left for the war. I wasn't about to stay behind while you went off and shot at a bunch of Krauts." He flinched at her use of the term. Although it was generally accepted, women were expected to have a…friendlier outlook on the Germans they were fighting.

"Damn Redfield, your sister hasn't changed," Barry chuckled. Claire grinned at the big man and walked over to hug him. Chris turned his attetnion back to Jill, who stood in her clean white uniform and looked like an angel among the ruin. She looked rather sad.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was going to try and stop her but-"

"What the hell are you doing here?!" a soldier barked, making Claire and Jill look over. "Good lord, if they're letting women on the battlefield, we might as well just give up. Look, there's soldiers who need help. The medics can't fix them all. Go do your damned jobs!"

Claire was about to snap back when Jill calmly replied, "Of course. Does the medic have supplies or should we bring our own?" The soldier shrugged and walked off. Jill turned to Claire. "You can't expect the men to be lovely gentlemen. They're watching their friends, their _brothers_, die. They're a little on edge. We'll have to talk later Chris. Bye."

And with that, the two women in white walked away. Chris heard Steve mumble something but he looked up at the sky. Something was wrong. They weren't supposed to be here. Claire was never supposed to be involved in war. He had the worst feeling right about now.

June 6, 1944 in unknown German facility

"How's the research coming along, Doctor?" the German officer coolly questioned. Dr. William Birkin looked over his shoulder at the tall blond man, obviously an Aryan. His pale blue eyes glared down at William, who was sandy haired and blue eyed so not a 'perfect' specimen.

"It's good, officer," William replied pleasantly. He didn't really know enough about the military to guess what rank the Aryan man was. He didn't really care either. "Just a little while longer and it'll be done. Can I ask you something?"

"As long as it's acceptable by the Fuhrer," the officer simply replied. William knew he should've expected that. Hitler's men were oddly loyal to a man who, to William, seemed off his rocker.

"Why is the Fuhrer so interested in genetic research?" William asked. The tall Aryan watched him darkly and William knew he'd stepped over some invisible line. "I'm just curious. You see, perhaps if I knew I could get even more into my work. We scientists always work harder when we know what our leader's goal is."

"Hm… I'm afraid I couldn't tell you even if I did know. Only certain scientists can know, I'm afraid," he said with a shrug. His hands went behind his back and William imagined he was fiddling with them. His good friend, Albert, had taught him some of the things that soldiers do when they're nervous.

"Unfortunate. Oh well. I must be getting back to my research now," William said, hoping the soldier took the hint. The Aryan gave him a strained, and obviously forced, smile and walked away. William leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"What was that all about?" his wife, Annette, questioned as she and their daughter stepped out of the shadows. "He got so nervous towards the end."

"I can't say," William admitted as his child, little Sherry only twelve years old, climbed onto his lap. She didn't say much these days. She just liked to be near her parents. He knew that the constant shooting was bothering her. She'd never been so dependent on her parents before. "All I know is… No research will do them any good. Human's are too complex an animal… And I don't want to think about what that says for us."

Annette looked at him with teary, but accepting, eyes.

February 19, 1945 in Golden, Colorado

She knew it was cruel. She knew she was being heartless. She knew she was being selfish. He was serving a good cause and he didn't deserve the cruel attitude she was showing him. But she couldn't help it. She just couldn't take being alone anymore. That's why she'd stopped responding to his letters. And, as if he'd expected it, he'd stopped sending immediately. He'd always been a smart guy.

Or he could be dead. Shot in the head or the heart like all those other poor soldiers. And, although it gave her a sick-to-the-stomach feeling, she didn't really feel any sorrow for him. Again with the selfishness. But she'd lost her brother to the war already. She just didn't have enough grief in her for her boyfriend. Cruel as that was.

"So…you think he's dead?" her friend Cindy Lennox asked. "I mean… I still write David. Alyssa still writes Kevin. But you don't write Leon, Angela. That's just…a sign that you think he's dead."

Angela looked over at Cindy, her hands messing with the blue fabric of her long dress. The older woman watched her back and Angela offered a bitter smile. "He's not dead. I know he's not. But I'm not writing him. Not anymore."

She looked away before she could see the look of disgust on Cindy's face.

A/N: The William Birkin section-they were all speaking German. But I didn't think you guys wanted to read German. The nurses-I know that it's innacurate as all hell. But it makes for a good story. And this is a fanfiction, not a truthful retailing of WWII.


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